


Torn to Pieces and Left in the Blue

by kittyrot



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Ghost Schlatt, Ghost Wilbur - Freeform, Ghostbur, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:53:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27678355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittyrot/pseuds/kittyrot
Summary: Wilbur remembered very little after his death.
Relationships: Jschlatt & Wilbur Soot, No Romantic Relationship(s)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 281





	Torn to Pieces and Left in the Blue

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! So this is a kind of angsty Ghostbur fic! This takes place AFTER the second SMP war/Finale.  
> THIS STORY CONTAINS HEAVY SPOILERS FOR THE MOST RECENT DREAM SMP EVENTS  
> This was inspired by Ghostburs book of things he remembered, and I am a sucker for some angst. This is shorter than I was hoping, but it was really fun to write and I'm really proud of it.  
> There's a few references to Wilburs ARG, if you get them, comment them and I'll make out with you irl. 
> 
> Anyways I hate to beg, but if you like this story please please please leave a kudos or a comment, they make my day and keep me inspired to write. If you have any other ideas for angsty Dream SMP stuff lemme know! 
> 
> I'll probably have a DNF story I'm co-writing out soon too so keep an eye out for that if you like my stuff! 
> 
> The title for this fic was taken from lyrics from An Ode to L'Manburg. It's a really amazing song and I suggest you listen to it, if you haven't already. Listening to "I'm Sorry Boris", by Wilbur Soot, obviously, while reading is also optional, but it was what I had on repeat as I wrote it.
> 
> Enough rambling, here's the story!!
> 
> o7

Wilbur thinks he can feel the wind, thinks he can feel the air in lungs before realizing he can't feel anything at all.

He’s outside. That much is clear based on the dark sky above him. He feels empty, cold. 

There’s bright lights in the distance. Wilbur can’t identify where they’re coming from or why they’re there, he can just barely see the glow through the fog. 

He realizes that he's lying down. Standing up, he looks around. He can't see much through the fog. He looks down at himself and sees there's a hole in his chest, his clothes torn and bloody around it. 

Somehow, he doesn't panic. He feels no pain, so he must be alright. He gets to his feet. His mouth feels dry. He swallows and tastes salt. It’s not unpleasant. 

There's shouting. Looking over to the light he can now tell there was no fog. Wilbur remembers an explosion. There's smoke in the air, and flames are rising. 

He doesn’t panic. 

Wilbur sits back down. He’s on a hill overlooking the carnage before him. He hopes L’Manburg was alright. 

He pauses. L’Manburg. His nation. He remembers being president, winning an election. There were people cheering for him, though he couldn’t remember why. He remembers the van, the Revolution, but still, he feels empty. He’s missing something. 

His hand went to his chest, the blood was dry. How did he get wounded? He remembers Philza, his sword driving true through his body, battered by the explosion. He swallowed again. Salt. Why does he taste salt?

His mind was scattered. He barely remembered anything, and the harder he tried, the fuzzier it all got. 

He stood again, pushing himself to his feet, and started walking down the hill to the wreckage. He didn’t feel the impact of his feet on the wet grass. 

Wilbur didn't get warmer as he approached the flames. Tubbo built this, he remembered that. Tubbo spent hours perfecting the tents and carpets which were now engulfed in flames and torn to shreds. 

The screams were getting louder, and Wilbur could hear people crying. 

He saw Technoblade, standing tall in the distance. It was good to see that his older brother was safe. Wilbur smiled gently, thinking of when they would spar as children. Wooden swords Phil made them hitting one another as Tommy sat to the side and complained that he wasn’t allowed to join. 

As he got closer he realized that there was a crater that ripped through the ground much like the hole in his chest. He looked over the scene, and saw Tommy off to the side. There were tears streaming down his little brother's face as he clung desperately to an injured friend. Wilbur would normally tease him for crying, but he decided that he wouldn’t mention this one. 

He stood and watched as Techno turned away from the destruction, a group of people following him as he walked off in another direction. 

Wilbur could also see Phil making his way to Tommy. His fathers blonde hair is blood stained and dirty. He dropped to his knees next to Tommy, and his brother sobbed into his fathers arms. 

Wilbur looked away from the scene, eyes going to the other side of the crater.

He saw Niki and Fundy crouched together in the trampled grass. Flames framed their silhouettes, giving them an eerie glow. He remembered them. He remembered a little Fundy running around the new L’Manburg, his tail knocking things as he went, too excited to watch his surroundings. He remembered seeing him grow into the strong warrior he was today. He remembered Niki, remembered sitting in her bakery near the docks, watching the salmon swim along the shore as the smell of fresh bread came from the back. 

Wilbur remembered L’Manburg, his great unfinished symphony, as it were. Now, it was nothing but a bloodsoaked and ruined land. 

He turned away. 

Wilbur walked back through the woods, crossing lakes and climbing hills. He reached the area of his old home, and walked down the stairs into the ravine. Buttons littered every surface, but he didnt know why. He walked from end to end, and rested a hand on the entrance to a farm. It seemed like it was potatoes. 

Wilbur leaned against the wall and slid down onto the floor, buttons clicking as he did. 

His head hurt, but not how you’d think. It felt like it would when he stayed up past his bedtime reading books in the dark. He felt lost. 

Wilbur wished Phil was with him. He wondered if he still loved him. Phil was always there to protect him whenever he needed him. If he woke from a night terror, his father was there to sing him back to sleep. If he got hurt playing in the garden, Phil was there to clean and bandage him. He missed Phil. Wilbur hoped his family was alright. 

The stone on his back was cold. He was so cold. 

He was running out of memories. Wilbur had realized he didn’t need to breathe, but he gasped for air anyways. He had worked so hard for this, and he couldn’t even remember it. 

He slammed his fist into the wall behind him, and tears began to stream down his face. 

He slowly stood from his spot on the floor, wiping his eyes in annoyance. Tommy would never let him live down crying alone. 

Making his way back to the hill overlooking L’Manburg, he tried to recall as much as he could. 

He could remember tunnels, paths blocked as he crouched low to the ground, trying to stay out of prying eyes. He could remember books hidden behind secret doors, stories and songs told in hushed tones of cities and traitors and accomplishments. 

He remembered arrows flying as he ran from what used to be his home, the safe haven for the ones he loved. His old uniform being torn to rags as blades and branches whipped out to snag his arms. 

Wilbur collapsed to the ground, sobs wracking his body and saw he had made it. 

He was back where he started. 

The flames had died down, and he could see his once friends try to salvage what they could of the ruins.

Wilbur finally allowed himself to panic, finally allowed himself to be scared. 

This wasn’t forever, was it? What was he going to do? 

Tears fell as he lied there. The smoke cleared and rain began to fall, but Wilbur didn’t get wet. He didn’t even feel the cold drops hit his skin. 

He heard a sound behind him, but he didn’t bother looking up. 

“Hey, Wil.” A familiar voice spoke up. Wilbur still didn’t move, but he did finally speak. 

“Schlatt?” His hands were shaking, and his voice was raw. 

“So you do remember me, huh.” Schlatt sat beside him. Wilbur still didn’t look up, but he could feel him. 

“What happened to us?” Wilbur looked over at Schlatt’s hands. 

“Well, we died for starters.” Schlatt spoke, voice dry and sardonic. 

Wilbur scoffed and looked back at his own lap. He tasted salt again. 

Schlatt sighed and turned his gaze to Wilbur. 

“Guess it’s just us now, huh old friend?” His voice held a sincerity that Wilbur hadn’t heard from him in a long time. 

“Yeah,” He looked out over everything, watching the flames fade as the sun rose, “it seems like it is.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all liked this!  
> This is actually the version with a happier ending, where Schlatt comes along. I was originally going to make it much sadder, but Schlatt won the coin flip so you were spared. 
> 
> Again, leave a kudos or a comment if you liked it! It really makes my day :) 
> 
> o7
> 
> Follow me on [Twitter !](https://twitter.com/catmaidschlatt)  
> I'll be posting more about my current projects there ! DMs are always open for requests !


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